


Immortal Bloodlust

by ladyofbrileith



Category: Angel: the Series, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Biting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofbrileith/pseuds/ladyofbrileith





	Immortal Bloodlust

_London, 2004_  
  
Duncan stepped out of the pub, and into a world made mysterious by wispy white tendrils of fog draping themselves through the air. The air was damp and cold and close, the smell of fish drifting up from the market on the Thames a few blocks away.  
  
“I suppose this is the famous London fog you hear so much about?” Joe Dawson asked, making his way slowly out behind Duncan. “Makes a man’s bones ache.”  
  
“This is nothing, Joe. After the Killer Fog of ’52, the government started requiring the burning of hard coal and electric fireplaces instead of the soft coal that contributed to the fog.”  
  
They walked slowly towards the Underground station on the corner, Duncan slowing his pace to match Joe’s stilted progress. Some days Joe’s artificial legs seemed to bother him more than others. Apparently, today was one of those days.   
  
“The smoke from all the coal fires would mix with the fog off of the river and create a blanket that covered London for a week at a time,” Duncan’s voice trailed off. They’d reached the Underground station. Joe stood ready to step onto the escalator, but Duncan was looking off into the distance.  
  
“Mac?”  
  
“You go on Joe. I’m going to walk back to the hotel. I’ll meet you there.” Without looking at Joe, Duncan walked off into the mist. Joe shook his head and watched him go.  
  
“Yeah, Mac. Sure. See you then,” he muttered, turning and headed down into the tunnel.   
  
**  
  
Duncan walked down towards the docks, the fishy odor of the market clinging in his nostrils as it drifted around him in the mist. The pungent smell was familiar, inherently a part of every town along the river. It was something that didn’t change through the centuries, like him. As he reached the market the vendors were packing up their wares in the gathering gloom of evening. A door opened to his left, warm light spilling out to cut the mist, and three laughing young men stumbled out into the street. Duncan’s eyes were drawn to the sign above the door—“The Fishermen’s Retreat.” The wood was worn and splintered, rotting in places, but it had a new coat of paint.   
  
Slowly, he walked over to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped inside. It was like stepping back in time, if you discounted the jukebox in the corner spilling out the Sex Pistols. He sat down at the rough hewn wooden bar and ordered a pint. The bartender gave it to him with a grunt and went back to the end of the bar where a lively betting game of some sort was going on. Duncan stared into his beer and let the memories he’d held at bay for so long wash over him. He hadn’t been here in a hundred and fifty years. He hadn’t dared. He hadn’t trusted himself to come back.   
  
_London, 1854_  
  
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was drunk. He hadn’t meant to get drunk, really he hadn’t, but the pretty girl kept sending pint after pint over and he didn’t have the heart to not drink them. At least that’s the excuse he gave. If he’d taken a moment for true introspection, he would have discovered the deeper, darker reason he was so determined to drink away his sorrows. But then, if he’d wanted to take a moment for true introspection, he wouldn’t have been drinking. He nodded his head sagely at his own logic and called to the girl to bring him another. He didn’t remember calling to her when she appeared a few moments later, but he grinned up at her and took the pint anyway, thinking what a nice girl she was.   
  
“Here, now, don’t you know its bad luck to drink so much alone?” a lilting voice asked from above him. Far above him. Duncan raised his eyes and looked into the face of an angel. At least he thought it was an angel. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile from Heaven itself. And Irish—a fellow Celt among the God-forsaken English.   
  
Duncan grinned. “Well, then, you’d best join me friend,” he offered, waiving towards the empty bench across from him. “Name’s Duncan MacLeod.”  
  
The angel smiled slightly and took a seat. “Angelus,” he said.  
  
“Aye, I thought so,” Duncan replied.   
  
Angelus lifted an inquiring brow, but Duncan was already calling the girl over to bring his new companion a beer. She delivered it, smiling at Angelus with a look in her eye that he knew well. He pinched her bottom as she walked away and she giggled back at him. Duncan was looking at him expectantly, so Angelus took a sip. He gagged, almost spit out the foul brew, but managed to choke it down. He planned on drinking far better before the night was through. He gazed back at Duncan. A fine specimen indeed—powerful frame, long, dark hair, eyes like chocolate. Heat poured off of the Scot, touching Angelus with its warmth. He could see the blood as it pumped through an artery, right at the base of Duncan’s throat. The scent was overpowering, stronger than any Angelus had encountered before. His mouth went dry at the thought of a taste, and he felt a tightening in his groin as his own blood flow shifted. The reaction took him by surprise in its sheer visceral quality. He didn’t just want a drink from this man. He didn’t just want to drain him and leave him in the street. He wanted him, to consume him, to take him fully in.  
  
“Well?” Duncan was looking at him expectantly. Angelus realized there must have been a question, but he had no idea what it was.   
  
He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” He watched as Duncan’s strong hands caressed the tankard, calluses snagging on splinters, nails scratching lightly against the wood.   
“I asked where you hailed from,” Duncan repeated patiently.   
  
“Galway,” Angelus said. “Do you know it?”  
  
“Oh, aye. I was there when...” Duncan broke off his sentence. “I’ve been there.”   
  
His slip went unnoticed by Angelus, who was fixated on the pulse at the base of his neck again.   
  
“Is there something wrong with my neck?” Duncan frowned. “Do I have a mark?”  
  
Not yet. “No, nothing’s wrong,” Angelus said smoothly. He stood and stretched. “I don’t know about you, friend, but I can only take so much of this swill. I’ve a fine ’03 French Brandy back at my rooms. Will you join me?”  
  
Duncan studied him, his gaze surprisingly sober. His gaze narrowed. Angelus smiled down at him, figuratively holding his breath. Finally, Duncan smiled back and nodded.  
  
“A brandy sounds grand.” Duncan stood up, shaking his head as the room spun. Angelus slapped an arm around him, offering his support, and bringing his head closer to the other man’s neck. The scent of the blood was almost overpowering this close, and he almost whimpered in delighted anticipation.   
  
They staggered out of the tavern into the night and stopped abruptly. The fog had rolled in and settled. Everything was muted, cold. The glow from the open door only reached a few feet, and the fog was thickening.   
  
“Perhaps we should go back in and wait this out,” Duncan suggested.   
  
Angelus shook his head. Duncan could barely see it, but he felt the motion. “My rooms aren’t too far. Besides, this could take days to lift.” He moved off, his arm firmly around Duncan’s shoulders.   
  
They moved slowly through the fog, grasping at each other. The light from the tavern was gone within a few feet and they were lost in the brown mist. Angelus’ vampiric senses guided him, but he moved slowly to keep up the pretense. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want Duncan to know what he was just yet.   
  
Duncan felt the other man’s arm around him, supporting him, and he was grateful for it. Maybe brandy wasn’t the best idea, but it occurred to him that congenial company might be. Angelus’ hand was on his waist, fingers biting through the coat and the shirt beneath it with surprising strength. His thigh brushed against Duncan’s as he walked. It felt like a caress and Duncan bit back a moan as he felt himself hardening. Good God, was he that drunk? At 250 years old, he’d been with other men, but none that had affected him this suddenly, this strongly. He swallowed convulsively. This was either a very good idea, or a very bad one. At the very least, maybe it would make him forget Isabella’s death, if only for a few minutes.   
  
Angelus was nearly going mad. Every time his thigh brushed Duncan’s he felt a jolt run through him. He was immensely aware of the man, and knew Duncan was feeling the tension as well. He could smell the lust rising in the Scot. Maybe tonight could be more fun than he’d thought. He stopped abruptly. Just a taste, just a tiny taste to see what was to come. He moved in front of Duncan, who swayed abruptly on his feet. Angelus reached out and steadied him, one hand on his waist, the other wrapping softly around his neck. He leaned in, breathed him in. Duncan stood there, seemingly waiting for something. Angelus could feel Duncan’s heartbeat pick up, skipping lightly under his palm. The Scot’s breath had quickened as well, and Angelus smiled in triumph. He reached his thumb up, caressed Duncan’s lower lip gently, teasingly. Duncan parted his lips, his tongue darting out for a taste. Angelus leaned in further, until their lips were almost touching. He forced himself to breathe, letting his breath mingle with Duncan’s, waiting.   
  
It was Duncan who closed the gap, touching his lips first gently, then with bruising force to Angelus’. Angelus pulled him in, his fingers tangling in Duncan’s ponytail as their tongues met, did battle, retreated, and came back for more. The fog was so thick they couldn’t see anything, only feel, only taste. Angelus felt Duncan’s erection pushing against his hip, and he rocked against it, creating delicious friction for both of them. Pulling his lips free of Duncan’s he trailed them down to that pesky pulse point. He shifted into his game face, feeling his teeth elongate, knowing Duncan could see nothing. He wanted to bite down, to rip and rend that strong throat, but he held himself back, his erection raging and begging for a different release first. Shuddering, he pressed one fang against Duncan’s neck and slowly scraped across the skin, leaving a thin line of blood.  
  
The pain made Duncan gasp and grab Angelus’ hair, pulling him closer. Angelus’ tongue slipped out and slowly licked the thin line of blood. It was like no blood he’d ever tasted. It was magic. It was fulfillment. It was desire enflamed and satisfied all at once. He couldn’t help himself. He bit down, hard. Duncan moaned and pulled him closer still, and Angelus withdrew his teeth and suckled at the wound. He didn’t drink like he wanted to kill—just to taste. He felt flooded, overwhelmed. But then it was gone. No more blood. He raised his head, but could see nothing. Delicately, he ran his tongue up Duncan’s neck. No wound. It had healed. Angelus froze in stunned surprise, but then Duncan’s hands were pulling him back up to lip level, and Duncan’s wicked tongue was dancing its way into his mouth again and Angelus found himself unable to think.   
  
“How much farther to your rooms?” Duncan growled in Angelus’ ear. Wordlessly, Angelus took his hand and guided him through the fog.  
  
His senses muddled by the kiss and the fog, Duncan clung to Angelus’ hand. He felt like he was burning and freezing. A few minutes, or maybe hours later, they stumbled through a door, out of the fog, into a dimly lit hallway. When Duncan would have headed up the creaking stairs, Angelus pulled him back into the dark recesses of the hall. A door on the right, flung open by Angelus’ impatient hand, followed by a long descent into further darkness. The dank smell of damp enclosed earth. Another door. And then light, warmth, a fire in the hearth, a large bed draped in velvet. With a strength that surprised Duncan, Angelus thrust him against the wall, pinning him there. Instinctually, Duncan struggled, but stilled when his erection brushed against the other man’s.   
  
Angelus lazily grasped both of Duncan’s hands in one of his own, holding them against the wall above the Immortal’s head. With a single finger, he traced the contours of Duncan’s face, caressing his bottom lip with practiced ease. Duncan opened his mouth, let his tongue reach out and flick Angelus’ finger. Angelus just smiled and pressed his hips more firmly against Duncan’s, rotating them slightly, creating delicious friction for both of them. Duncan moaned. Angelus slid his free hand down between them. He found the hard bulge in Duncan’s trousers and caressed it through the material.   
  
Duncan arched up against him, thrusting against his hand in silent need. He struggled to free his hands, but Angelus’ held them easily. Too easily. Duncan gave a desperate pull of his arms, and felt pain shoot up from his shoulders when Angelus’ hands refused to budge. Duncan stilled, looked at the man who held him for all intents and purposes captive. A thought penetrated his drunken fog that something wasn’t quite right, but he could not place exactly what it was.  
  
Sensing Duncan’s unease, Angelus slackened his hold, let Duncan’s hands drop. He saw relief flash through the man’s eyes. His hand joined the other at Duncan’s waist, loosened the belt, undid the fasteners and slid the trousers over slim hips. Duncan’s erection sprang free, twitched against Angelus’ hip. Grinning wickedly, Angelus pulled Duncan further into the room. Trousers around his ankles, Duncan stumbled as he followed, finally losing his balance completely and falling forward onto Angelus, who took his weight and allowed it to propel them both back onto the bed.   
  
On top of the vampire, Duncan thrust slowly into Angelus’ hip, grinding against him, taking his pleasure. Mimicking what Angelus had done to him, Duncan pinned the vampire’s hands above his head and slowly lowered his own head until their lips met, crashed. Duncan’s tongue invaded Angelus’ mouth, thrusting in time with his hips, warring for dominance. Angelus allowed it. Duncan slowly stroked down Angelus’ body with one hand, ending at his hip, holding it firmly, him firmly to the bed as he started to thrust harder. It was Angelus’ turn to moan, to writhe, to find himself close to begging for the first time in a century.   
  
Duncan’s wicked hand was busy, undoing Angelus’ trousers, reaching inside, stroking the cold, hard erection he found there. Its coolness surprised him, sent off warning bells in the part of his brain where the warrior reigned, but pure need drove the warning from his thoughts. Releasing Angelus’ hands, he caressed and kissed his way down the vampire’s body, undoing buttons and removing clothes as he went. He paused only to take off his own shoes, kick off this tangled trousers. Dropping to his knees, as Angelus lay stretched out before him, he undid the vampire’s boots, slid his trousers off of his hips, down over his knees before tossing them aside.   
  
Duncan leaned further, needing to taste, needing to feel. He nipped Angelus’ inner thigh, a sharp bite that drew a gasp of excitement from the vampire. Angelus felt the man’s hot breath caressing its way up his leg, hovering for a moment over his groin, and then he felt himself engulfed. Duncan’s hot mouth encased him, and he thrust upwards. He felt himself hit the back of Duncan’s throat, and the Immortal took him in all the way. His tongue licked, his throat worked, and his hands caressed. Up and down. Swirling. Dancing. Duncan slid one hand under Angelus, cupped his balls, stroked the area between them and his hole, and then slowly, patiently, he worked one finger inside.

  
Angelus almost screamed. He was used to taking, to forcing. It was what the demon demanded. Duncan was in the submissive position. Angelus should have been fucking his mouth, taking what he wanted. Instead he heard what sounded suspiciously like a whimper escape his throat. He moved his hips in time with Duncan’s mouth and fingers, and felt himself move closer to the brink. Desperate to regain control of this little game, he pulled sharply away from Duncan, pushing the Immortal off of him and to the floor.   
  
Duncan looked up, surprised, angered, but Angelus was already on him. He saw the feral gleam in the vampire’s eyes, but he didn’t understand it. Angelus mouth was on him, sucking at his lips, moving to his neck, up to his ear, down to his nipples, leaving a cool trail of wetness in its path. Duncan shivered at the contrast—the warmth of the room, the chill of the man who was wreaking havoc on his senses. Angelus’ hand closed around Duncan’s erection, pulling, caressing, forcing Duncan to join him near the brink. He set a rhythm, caressing in time with his own thrusts, his cock trapped between their bodies. But that wasn’t enough. Angelus lifted Duncan’s hips, slipped his cock behind the Immortal’s, found the entrance to his hole. He bit his hand, used his own blood as a lubricant, and thrust into Duncan. He wasn’t gentle. He took what he wanted. He expected Duncan to scream, but Duncan just moaned and ground down on him, taking all of him, despite the tearing Angelus could feel his cock was doing.

There was enough blood to make it slick, and Angelus resumed his rhythm. Duncan’s cock was trapped between them and Angelus let their bodies create a sheath. With every thrust of his cock, he felt Duncan’s leap against his stomach. He raised his hands, trapping Duncan’s over his head again as he thrust into him. Duncan gasped, calling on a God Angelus knew would not answer. He heard a growling moan, and realized it was his own. The smell of blood, the feel of skin giving way down below was driving him mad. He didn’t even realize he’d shifted into his game face until he saw the startled fear in Duncan’s eyes, felt the other man struggle to break his hold. But it was too late. Angelus picked up the pace, thrusting harder and faster and Duncan’s head fell back, his panic lost in his own lust. The friction of their bodies deepened as Angelus bent over him. He placed his fangs against Duncan’s neck, paused for just a second and then bit down savagely. It was enough. He felt Duncan’s hot cum spurting against his belly as Duncan’s hot blood spurted into his mouth. He tasted the power, and the strength again but this time he didn’t withdraw. He pounded his cock into Duncan as he feasted on the blood pouring around his teeth, filling his mouth. He felt Duncan weakening, losing consciousness, losing himself. His heartbeat was getting erratic, as Angelus continued to pound into him, as he continued to drink. And then Angelus felt it, the moment that this strong, beautiful man’s heart gave out. He took his death into him, and came violently, filling Duncan, as he was filled with Duncan. Sated, Angelus collapsed on top of his lover’s cooling body, and felt himself drift off, content.

A few minutes later, his pillow took a deep breath, jerking back to life, and Angelus realized everything was about to change.


End file.
